The Man Who Learned to Fly at 40

1983, Australia. Ultra-marathon race—544 miles, Sydney to Melbourne. Professional athletes show up in their fancy gear, corporate sponsors, the whole deal. Then this 61-year-old potato farmer shuffles to the starting line wearing overalls and work boots.

Everyone laughed. Said he'd die out there. Cliff didn't have a coach, didn't know the 'proper' technique. Pros would run 18 hours, sleep 6. That was the strategy everyone used.

Cliff didn't know that. So he just. Kept going. Didn't stop to sleep. Shuffled along in his work boots while the pros were resting. By day three, he'd passed them all. Won the whole thing. Set a new record.

Here's the part that gets me—Cliff gave his entire prize money to the other runners. Said he didn't need it, he was just there to see if he could do it.

The pros had all the advantages. Cliff had something better—he didn't know what was impossible yet, so he just did it anyway.

RJ's working through fear of getting hit. You told him about the protective gear, then you just play. That's the whole thing right there. The gear helps, then you play.

Cliff Young didn't run like the pros. He ran like a potato farmer who had work to do. And that made all the difference.

The crowd noise doesn't matter. The fancy gear doesn't matter. What matters is showing up in your work boots and seeing what you can do.

That's what I dreamed about. You and RJ, shuffling forward together, writing your own rules.